


enchanted

by groove_bunker



Series: Please Ignore the Pronouns [fanmix fic] [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groove_bunker/pseuds/groove_bunker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve never met her before but never have you wanted to know anyone better than you want to know her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	enchanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meg (obv)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Meg+%28obv%29), [Shadowcrawler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcrawler/gifts).



> This is the beginning of a series of drabbles that are based off of T Swift songs which are included in the Bering and Wells fanmix 'Please Ignore the Pronouns' which my friend Meg made as a joke and then I took seriously because Taylor Swift is serious business (never take me seriously pls) so here goes!  
> fanmix can be found here: http://incomprehensiblelentils.tumblr.com/post/56558063592/a-bering-and-wells-taylor-swift-fanmix-because

You spend the party wandering around the various rooms filled with underage drunks and questionable food and you’ve never felt so alone. Eventually, when it all gets too much, you step outside for a brief moment, to get some fresh country air and to get away from the boy in your math class who won’t stop pestering you about a date.

Across the other side of the patio is a girl, leaning on the wall, staring up at the lights that are strung between the main house and the pool house. You think they look nice but it seems like a lot too much effort for a high school house party. This girl though, she’s staring at them with a smile on her face that makes you feel like you’re missing something, like these lights mean more than they appear.

She catches your eye (it’s not hard, you’ve been watching her for what feels like hours) and introduces herself without stepping any closer.

“I’m Helena.”

“Myka”

“The lights are really rather beautiful, aren’t they?”

“I guess so.”

She moves towards where you’re now leaning against the wall. The music seems to dim to a drone in the background and even the excitable squeals of drunk girls playing spin the bottle seem to drift away as Helena fills your field of vision.  

“You guess so?”

You want to tell her that they have nothing on the stars that light up the sky out here at night but suddenly, the words in your mouth aren’t about the stars in the sky but the stars in her eyes and you have to bite your tongue to stop them tumbling out and embarrassing you.

“They’re nice.”

You don’t expect what she says next.

“Want to dance?”

She pulls you out on to the lawn, where you can see nothing but the night sky and the moon and stars, but all you suddenly want to study is her face and the way that her confident smile has suddenly become nervous. You begin to dance to a tune that might be drifting from the house, but then again, she may be humming it in your ear, soft notes trembling in her throat and cascading out to where only you can hear them. You’ve never met her before but never have you wanted to know anyone better than you want to know her.

You want to study the constellations written across her eyes and write down the tunes she hums as you dance. You want to draw a map of her body, the one that is pressing closer to yours as you dance further and further away from the house, into the dark. And you want to know if she feels like someone has let loose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach when she presses her lips gently to yours.

You hope she does.

When Pete drops you home after the party, you can’t sleep for hours, alternating between pacing the room and lying on your bed. You want to see her again, speak to her but there’s no way that someone like her is going to bother with someone like you again. You almost convince yourself that the dance (and the kiss) was all a dream before you slowly drift off to sleep.

You wake up to a message on your phone from an unknown number.

“Last night was enchanting, we should do it again some time.” 


End file.
